


An rud a ghoilleas ar an gcroí caithfidh an t-súil é a shileas

by leradny



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Food as Therapy, Knives Are Serious Business, Might pick this up again later, On Hiatus, Rey Kenobi, Slice of Life, cooking au, maz seems like she'd be an amazing chef/therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 22:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: Rey takes a haute cuisine cooking class with Maz Kanata and ends up having to borrow a knife from a surly, intimidating classmate. (Reylo, Cooking AU.)





	1. arán

**Author's Note:**

> Looking through my files, I found these two beginning chapters for an AU, but I can't figure out how to keep it going. Still, I liked the story, so I thought I might as well put them up.
> 
> The food service comes from my past work in various restaurants from really, REALLY sleazy hole in the wall diners to overpriced haute cuisine restaurants.
> 
> The title is Irish Gaelic and means "What pains the heart must be washed away with tears."

Rey cannot be late.

She would never be late to the first day of a haute cuisine class which takes up an embarrassing amount of her paycheck. Particularly not if the teacher, the recently retired owner and lead chef of Takodana, has been lauded as one of the best chefs of their generation and Principal Holdo had practically begged the woman to teach at their school. Then the door thumps shut behind her and suddenly all eyes are on Rey. From pictures in the news, she recognizes a little old lady on a stepstool with eyes rendered huge by her ridiculous coke-bottle glasses.

Maz Kanata clearly sees Rey walking in a good seventy seconds past eleven o'clock and harrumphs.

"Sink's over there." She points to the corner. While she's bluntly irritated, she doesn't make an enormous show of it, for which Rey is grateful. "Call me Maz. Are you a last minute add?"

"No, I'm Rey," she says. "Rey Kenobi."

"Oh--I thought that was a boy's name." She scurries to her desk and ticks off Rey's name, probably 'quite tardy.' "Go to that counter with the tall one when you're done washing up."

Rey slinks over to the little sink and scrubs up, then looks around for whoever 'the tall one' is. Everyone seems to have been paired up already and she's caught in a dreadful moment of limbo when Maz starts lecturing. Everyone tries to focus on the lecture and getting their knives ready, and she can't really blame them for not helping her out.

"Over here," someone mutters from a corner of the class. She turns to find a black-haired man who would be pale if he wasn't blushing furiously. He is indeed tall--when she approaches the short counter she finds that he's head and shoulders taller than her, which is no laughing matter. Rey can look her best friends Finn and Poe in the eye.

This fellow student wears a custom chef's coat and apron, both in heavy black cloth. What he's doing here with that kind of money, she doesn't know.

She pulls out her leather satchel and rummages through it for her knife case--but when her hand meets nothing but pens, a notebook, and her phone, her heart sinks further. Of course she'd leave her own knives at home today--or at work, which would only be more stressful. Her colleagues tend to borrow knives and only sometimes give them back. "Great..." Turning to her assigned partner, she swallows what is left of her pride. "Excuse me, I... I forgot my knives. Would you mind?"

He looks down to the leather roll on the table and nods as he sharpens the paring knife. "Go ahead." There's no brand on them that she can see, but they look rather like Kyber knives with serrated edges and red handles. To someone who's spent her whole career hacking away with cheap or second-hand knives, it's rather intimidating.

She unrolls his case the rest of the way to find an older knife with a smooth edge and blue handle, something that wouldn't look out of place in her own knife set or even at home. The lettering is worn off, but the weight is comforting in a way. When her partner is done she sprinkles a little water on the whetstone and sets her borrowed knife on it. Instantly her partner's eyes are on it, though he has the decency to allow her to sharpen it in silence.

"That's a Kyber knife," he says.

"Kyber? I'm glad I was careful." She looks again at the blue one in her hand. The Kyber company stopped making blue knives like this one before she was born, but it certainly looks like half a century has passed--even if it's been taken care of. The red knives seem more like the newer make. "Those, too?"

"They're custom."

"Tall one!" Maz barks, before Rey can be astonished at the amount of money sitting in a corner of the table. "Keep quiet back there--unless you can tell me what this salad is called and what dressing to use." He looks at the ingredients gathered on the counter--apples, walnuts, celery, and grapes. They're making a Waldorf salad, Rey notes. She adores fruit salads after a childhood in the desert, but the mayonnaise-based traditional dressing is sickening. This combination is honestly the best and the worst of American cuisine in one dish.

"Waldorf salad," he answers. "With a dressing of lassi and cinnamon."

"Half right," the teacher says. "That would taste delicious, but we only have mayonnaise at the moment."

"I'll make Waldorf dressing, but you can't make me taste it."

The class snickers.

"Don't get cocky with me, Ren. Now everyone make those salads. I expect five to seven minutes, then we'll work on the dressing."

Rey sighs. Five minutes, one knife--maximum effort, as Poe and Finn love to say ever since they all watched Deadpool.

There's no time for her to wait if Mr. Custom-Knife-Set is using a knife she needs, so she has to be careful with the one she's got. Since the walnuts are dry, she crushes them first with flat of her blade and sets them aside. The celery is sliced next because it won't brown the way apples do, and on the bias because she prefers the look. Then she goes through the most thankless and time-sensitive task of coring the apples, but to her pleasant surprise the Kyber knife glides through it like butter.

Once Rey tips her ingredients in the bowl, there's a tap at her elbow. She looks down to see Maz nod. "Bias-cut celery, very nice. Timing is good and your mis-en-place is impeccable. You're already working--and in cramped quarters, I bet."

"Just trying to build my technique," Rey tells her, both flattered and intimidated by how easily Maz figured that out.

Maz hops to the other side of the table and Rey turns to see her assigned partner sawing at the celery with his serrated knife. She barely hides a wince when she sees the edges have been crushed.

"Oh, child, child." Their teacher tuts as she picks up an apple slice, which is browning. "You cut the apples first? Rookie mistake. And a saw-tooth knife for celery?"

"I borrowed his regular knife," Rey says, out of fairness.

"No, I don't use that one," he grumbles. "This celery is just tough."

"Well, Kylo, you're running on six minutes so I hope you speed up."

He swears under his breath. "I need space. Move!"

He pushes Rey's bowl to the side, and the browning apple with ragged cuts of celery next to it. Then he breaks off a few stalks of celery and trims them in a flash. Irritated, yet astonished at the audacity of starting from scratch when there's less than two minutes left, Rey watches as he slices lengthwise between the sections for matchstick cuts, then halves an apple for the same look. In what feels like a few moments, he's tossed a few cups of fresh, even cuts of fruit and celery into his mixing bowl and gathered the celery leaves to a corner--for garnish, Rey presumes.

The timer goes off. Maz nods. "If you'd done the second way first, I wouldn't mind your sassing me so much." She clears her throat and bellows, "Dressing and plating! Get creative, but I expect everyone done in 3-5 minutes no matter how artistic you get!"

Rey pops a leftover grape into her mouth as she assembles the dressing, then tosses her salad and plates it in a bowl. She's quite proud of herself and confidently watches while Maz goes around the room to taste and grade their plates, the first assignment of the semester.

Kylo Ren arranges his salad into a rough fan shape on a plate and, as Rey predicted, uses the celery stalks for garnish along with the walnuts. It's a lovely and quite unexpected arrangement. She files it down for future reference. Of course she wouldn't be able to use it at her diner, but she could try at home.

"A-plus, Rey," Maz says after her bite. "Wherever you work, you should expect a promotion if they've got any brains." Rey smiles and ducks her head down to hide a blush.

"As for you, tall one." Maz peers at the salad. "Creative cuts which lends itself to an equally creative presentation." She takes a forkful. "Taste is good. Easy on the vinegar next time. A-plus on this salad--as opposed to the first one, which I would give a solid F. So you get a C-plus."

"First?" There's an uncomfortable murmur as Kylo looks from his salad to Maz. "But I didn't even finish the first salad! I started over!"

"Exactly," Maz says. "You don't have unlimited supplies or time in a restaurant. And people don't want to order the same dish and get two completely different results."

"But this is--"

" _This_ is quite generous of me," Maz states clearly and loudly, matching his rising volume but not his rage. "To average out your score on two assignments as a teacher does, rather than judge you by your worst performance as customers or managers are wont to do. C-plus. End of discussion."

Kylo Ren rolls his blade into his case, then storms off with it under his arm and slams the door behind him.

"Culinary drama," Maz says. "Good for TV ratings, bad for the classroom or workplace. Wash your knives, clean up your stations, and sit down. We're going to learn more about fruits and vegetables and the various raw dishes we can make with them. And avoiding salmonella while we make them. Feel free to eat your salads."

Rey numbly goes through the motions of eating her salad, taking notes on the lecture, then washing her things. She's just finished drying the blue-handled knife before she tries to put it in a case which isn't there. Right--this knife isn't hers. It's the most expensive piece of cutlery she's ever held in her life, and she's got no case to put it in while she tries to return it to its volatile owner.

She settles for laying it on the side of the table where she can keep an eye on it, then approaches Maz when class is over. "Maz, do you have an extra towel I can wrap this in? I borrowed one of Kylo's knives and--well, it's a Kyber. I don't feel comfortable leaving it here."

Maz procures a thick, wide towel for her, then peers at the knife.

"This is more than a Kyber knife," she says. "It's the Jedi line. Sit down if you want a history lesson on cutlery." Rey sits. "Kyber is a parent company, not a brand. In their heyday some of the highest-end brands of chef knives in the world came out of it--that's the Jedi line--and they were also popular with the home kitchen clientele--until about forty years ago when they were bought out by Sith. Oh, the blades are still good if you're judging solely on whether they cut well. Professionals still use them. But the focus on uniform, synthetic red handles emphasized the monopoly and they lost nearly all of the established users who liked wooden handles in different colors."

"Dramatic," Rey remarks.

"That's our business, dear child."

"Which one do you like better?"

"The most heated debate of the last half century!" Maz heaves a sigh. "Well, I wouldn't turn down a Sith blade. They can mince, fillet, and debone with the best of them. I've heard they cut tomatoes into paper-thin slices. But Jedi blades did all that, and they came in your favorite color too. Not to mention there's something to be said for nostalgia. Your grandma probably used one at home."

"More like grandpa," Rey amends with a slight laugh. "He cooked a lot." She doesn't remember her grandmother at all.

"Really?" Maz peers at her. "Kenobi, was it? Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"Yes," Rey says faintly. "That's my grandfather."

"I didn't know he had a granddaughter. Surprised he had a child at all, that man." Rey smiles uneasily and nods, but on the inside she quails at thinking of Grandpa--or rather, his death. Maz sees through the smile at once and doesn't miss a beat changing tack. She pats Rey's shoulder with a warm, small, wrinkled hand. "I'm sorry, dear. For what it's worth, I knew of him."

"Did you? Really?"

Suddenly Rey is desperate to hear something about the only member of her family who she remembers at all. Her parents died when she was too young to remember more than her mother's gentle hands and her father's voice. Even her hairstyle was taken from a picture of her parents. She didn't have much more time with her grandpa Ben, but at least she has memories at all--an old, kind, bearded man always wrapped in a cloak, his soft elegant voice against the harshness of the desert town they lived in.

"Our paths crossed now and then. He was a better manager than a cook--but still a very good cook. You do remind me of him. And not just in the kitchen." Maz pats her hand. "What did he cook at home, I wonder?"

"Simple things."

They'd never starved, but she certainly didn't remember anything like the recipes she spends her time learning about now. Being a young child, she wouldn't have cared for it much, and even now she finds it hard to appreciate some of the more obscure aspects of haute cuisine. Like charger plates. Whatever is the point of having a plate to put a plate on?

"Simple is good," Maz says. "What did he make?"

"Fresh bread and milk. He made all our cheese and butter, too." There were names for them, names she can't quite remember in his lilting tone, not as vivid as the smell of baking bread or the sound of a butter knife scraping against toast. "Stew, porridge. Things like that." Things which took a long time, but no matter how extensive the waiting time was, he never forgot about anything or let it burn.

"Yes, simple and patient. That sounds exactly like Obi-Wan." She smiles fondly. "Do you bake, child?"

"No." A lump grows in her throat. "I never really had the time." She still doesn't, even now. Working, studying, snatching what social life she can in the moments between. She spends all day cooking meals for other people, but when she comes home she can barely manage to throw some ramen on the stove. Her life is so hectic that she rather misses the early days in the desert. Even if they were dreadfully lonely.

"You can find time if you make it," Maz tells her. "Going back to your childhood meals might be good for you." She doesn't demand anything of Rey, and it's a far shot from the Maz who refused to budge when facing up against a man twice her height.

\- - -

Rey goes home to her apartment where her roommates are out. She looks up the simplest bread recipe. Flour, yeast, salt, water. None of them difficult to procure. She checks her pantry first to find a bag of flour hiding in the back of a cupboard. She heads to the store and gets a few packets of yeast, some eggs because she ran out the other day, and she splurges on good butter and cheese.

The dough begins soft and sticky as she kneads flour into it, then evens out into a smooth lump. She pauses, unsure of whether she's done enough or has to knead it more, but then a flash of memory hits her:

_"Look, Rey." Grandpa lifts her onto the counter with gentle hands and surprising strength for his age. "See? You know you're finished kneading when you press down and the dough jumps back up." She prods at the dough with her thumb, imprinting a little dent into the surface which springs back slowly. He spreads a little butter into the mixing bowl, then puts the whole unfinished loaf in. "Now we tuck it into bed and let it have a little nap so it can grow." He covers the bowl with a dishtowel, then cleans the counter and takes her hand. "It's time for you to go to sleep, too, Rey."_

She's sure there's some sort of scientific reason to all the steps he mentioned, but as she does the same thing she finds herself wiping her damp eyes with a wrist so she won't get flour in her eyes. She towels her hands off and massages olive oil into her skin so her fingers won't chap, then cleans up and starts studying while the dough rises. Then she starts preheating the oven, digs up a round casserole dish, and shapes the dough into a ball like she remembers and slashes the top into an X with her paring knife before popping it into the warm oven.

She had plans to start an assignment on the structure of medieval banquets and how they were essentially the precursor to modern buffet dining, but finds herself nervously watching the oven instead. Jessika and Rose come back in the middle of the bake and take a deep breath. "Wow, Rey, this smells amazing!" Jessika exclaims, looking into the oven. "Is this your homework?"

She shakes her head with a rueful grin. "My grandpa used to bake a lot. I'm trying to see if I can replicate the bread."

"I love living with a culinary student!" Rose squeals. "I have to take a shower but tell me when I can have a slice, Rey!" She rushes into the bathroom as Jessika laughs and disappears into her own room.

After about twenty more minutes, Rey cautiously sticks a toothpick into the center and scrutinizes the end before she decides the loaf is done. She's baked birthday cakes before, sometimes even her own. If the end comes out clean, it's done. No matter how insecure she is about the crust. It's quite pale, not the golden brown she remembers. Probably there's a step she missed.

While it cools, Jessika and Rose hover like starving puppies, so she gets out the butter and cheese for a taste test, as well as a serrated knife--currently the only thing she has that is remotely close to a proper bread knife. The crust crackles as she slices. It's a sound she hasn't heard for years but remembers with absolute clarity. She thinks about getting a bread knife when it takes her a good few minutes to saw off three slices. Maybe even a new bread knife.

"I'm so glad this isn't for school," Rose announces with her mouth full of bread and butter. "If it wasn't, I'd inhale this anyway and then you'll have to say 'Sorry Professor, my roommate ate my homework.'"

The kitchen will stay warm for hours and it's clean since Rey washes as she goes, so they all take their homework and pile various books and papers onto the table while they finish off slice after slice. When she was a child, the loaf lasted for a few days, but considering they're three college students who live on instant noodles and coffee, it's not surprising when half the loaf is done before they focus all their attention on homework.

 _Arán._ The word comes to her as she finishes slicing the bread. Grandpa called bread _arán._

She wraps the slices in a towel and puts it in a safe, dry spot on the counter. It feels like she's tucking it into bed again.


	2. pióg stéige agus duáin

Rey plans ahead on the second day of her class. She double checks her bag for both her knives and Kylo's blade and also takes a few slices of the bread. This time she arrives ten minutes early.

"I see you took my advice," Maz says as she unrolls the bread. "Not refrigerated, I hope?" Rey shakes her head. Maz smiles and tears off a fluffy piece of inner bread, pinches it slightly, then pops it into her mouth. "Nice springy crumb. The top is a bit pale, so use some olive oil--no, wait." She interrupts herself, shaking her head. "Obi-Wan, he would have used butter or milk to brown the top. Real traditionalist. You don't have to be, but I'm certain that's what he'd use."

That was probably the step she missed as a child. Rey shrugs, but inwardly she could faint from delight.

"Anyway, get a decent bread knife. You won't go back to store-bought unless you like spending ten dollars on a single loaf of the same quality."

"On my wages?" Shuddering, Rey fervently shakes her head. "When I could just make it myself! Of course not." She does some quick sums in her head and realizes that baking her own bread would actually be cheaper, if more labor intensive. Of course there will be times when she caves and buys bread anyway instead of flour, but she feels rather empowered.

Maz barks a laugh and heads to the fridge. "Let's see. Butter, I have butter here somewhere... That's all a good bread needs. Although I like a good lox, personally."

The door opens and a tall figure in black coat and apron looms in the doorway. Then he stoops a little to make it through without bumping his head on the frame. It completely ruins any dramatic effect.

"Hello, Maz."

"Ah yes. Tall one."

"I'd like to apologize for the way I acted yesterday. I..." Kylo swallows. "Your teaching style... surprised me. But I thought it over and it makes sense that you would hold us to a professional standard given your years of experience in so many restaurants."

The words sound recited even to Rey. Maz nods as she butters the bread. "Had a chat with your mother about me, did you?"

Kylo looks down. "She found out and... lectured me. Also. I left a knife here yesterday. Blue handle... Kyber blade..."

"You mean the knife from a discontinued and high-end professional line which is not only in perfect working condition but almost twice your age?" Maz asks. "The knife which would cause even professional chefs to harbor fantasies of julienning you and taking it for themselves? The knife which has a greater net worth and usefulness than high-ranking businessmen who are kidnapped and held for ransom of inordinate sums--which you just left on the counter as you stormed out in a huff?"

"Yes." His ears are turning beet red. "Yes, I mean that knife."

Maz jerks her head to Rey. "Ask her. She borrowed it."

"Here." Rey takes the knife out of her bag and sets it on the table before unrolling the towel. "I took it home, but only so no one would steal it. I haven't used it or anything."

His eyes widen in surprise, but he straps it into his knife case without another word.

As Rey sharpens her familiar assortment of secondhand knives, Maz brings out carrots, onions, garlic, and celery and tells them to make mirepoix for a lentil soup. Someone hesitantly asks about the garlic and Maz cackles. "I just wanted to see you all suffer trying to mince it! And everyone could use more garlic."

Rey sighs and painstakingly peels the cloves, already missing the blue knife. Kylo does so as well, but as soon as Maz' back is turned, he puts the flat of his knife on the clove. Before Rey can tell him that's a very bad idea, considering his first impression on their teacher, he crushes the garlic. The distinct thump of a palm against the blade causes most people in the room to turn around. Maz does not.

"I heard that!" their teacher announces. All sounds of incredulous whispers halt as she puts her hands on her hips. "Dare I turn and see who rebelled by crushing instead of mincing?"

"Me." To his credit, he can be brave.

"Then, tall one, the highest grade you will get on this assignment is now a B-plus."

"But it tastes exactly the same and everyone hates mincing garlic!" Kylo argues. A hesitant laugh spreads through the crowd.

"True." Maz pauses for dramatic effect. Rey wonders if she secretly enjoys sparring with Kylo. "Yet, everyone also hates slowly lowering grades no matter how hard you work on the finished product because you chose to argue with your teacher instead of following simple directions."

Kylo mutters something under his breath, then sighs. "Will mincing another clove raise my grade?"

"I don't promise that. But should I find properly minced garlic in your mirepoix, I assure you that it won't drop any further."

\- - -

The row of ranges are spider burners over gas flames, perfectly clean and impeccable, which Rey quite appreciates. Even the stockpots on top are neatly stacked at least three inches from the edge instead of teetering precariously above her head. It's why she likes working the morning shift--everything's clean and she has a good chance of keeping it that way.

She sets her saucepan on a burner at medium heat and then looks around for a stepstool. Unfortunately, the two in the classroom are being used in turns by the legitimately short people. The pots near the edge, which she could have reached herself, have already been taken. She sighs and goes back to her counter. While rinsing her lentils, she keeps an eye on the row of stools for an empty spot and sees Kylo Ren grab two pots from the very back of the shelf without any help whatsoever.

One of them he sets on his own burner two spots down from hers. He sets the other next to her saucepan.

"Excuse me!" she calls. "I'm using that burner!"

"I know. This is for you."

He turns his burner on and sautees his garlic. Rey has a few moments to stare at his back. That was nearly helpful, in the rudest way possible. She gathers up her bowl of mirepoix and when she reaches the burners, she decides to be civil. "Thank you."

There's a long pause before he says, still staring into the water: "You're welcome." Then he dumps his mirepoix into the browned, fragrant garlic, stirs it once or twice, then lids the pot and walks back to the counter to clean his knives. Rey sautees her garlic. When she turns it down to simmer the rest of her vegetables, she sees Kylo's burner is still on the highest setting. She reaches out to lower the heat before it burns.

Maz appears at her elbow in a flash, putting a finger to her lips and jerking her head towards Kylo.

"Here's something I tell all my students," Maz says lowly. "Don't think only big things will ruin your career, like your restaurant slowly filling up with water. It's small things, too. Looking away from your pot for a few minutes will get you fired if you do it often enough, or at exactly the worst time possible." She points to the counter and waves. "As for you, Kenobi? You're learning to be a chef, not a nanny. Worry about your own dish."

She reluctantly goes back to her station and starts cleaning with as much focus and concentration as she's ever used in her life. When Kylo finally turns around and heads to his burner, she wishes she was at least ten thousand miles away. The lid scrapes as he opens it and immediately starts to cough. Thick, sharp smoke billows out of the pot and the smell of burnt vegetables fills the room. Rey, Maz, and and several people run for the windows to open them before the fire alarm goes off.

It goes off anyway.

Amidst the beeping and coughing and some mean-spirited laughs, Kylo Ren slams his pot onto an empty burner, packs up his things and storms out. Rey resigns herself to getting used to it.

After class, Rey creeps to the unmoved pot and tilts it, staring at the charred remnants of mirepoix. Hauling the sad mess over to the sink grabs Maz's attention.

"Kenobi, what _are_ you doing?"

"I'm just going to soak it," Rey says.

Maz waves her off. "Leave it. It's not your problem."

"The pot will be ruined."

"The cleaners have saved worse," Maz assures her. "And even if they can't, we have plenty more where that came from." Maz wrenches the pot from her hands with astonishing strength. Rey crosses her arms, feeling strangely restless. "Look at you!" Maz says. "Most students can't wait to leave. Here you are fretting over burnt pots like an old lady. Go home! Bake some pie!"

"What sort? Apple?"

Maz shrugs. "If you want."

For some reason, the noncommittal answer is maddening rather than soothing.

Rey finds herself at the grocer's, wandering aimlessly through the produce section. She looks at blackberries and bananas and apples, switches on her phone to scroll down various recipes, and sighs and decides she's not in the mood. She might as well cook a proper dinner and she looks through the meat section, wincing at prices on the higher end of the shelves and working her way down to something manageable, when she finds a pack of steak.

_One night the sun set while she was sitting outside on the porch, and she felt all the heat and light ebb away like a rushing tide. She had a helmet on, pretending to be a pilot as the air turned cold and black. Grandpa came out with two thick slices of steak and kidney pie, steam rising off them in the light from the kitchen. At that time she'd gobbled it down without a second thought, hungry but uninterested in the lack of sugar._

A lump forms in her throat.

She looks up a recipe for steak-and-kidney pie, collecting or substituting ingredients as she goes. Most of them use ale, which she can't buy yet, but she thinks her grandfather would have substituted it for beef broth anyway when he made it for her. She's never made pie crust, but it's so simple she decides to try it anyway.

She doesn't have a pastry cutter, but she doesn't remember seeing one anyway. She decides on a fork instead. Cubing the butter and putting it in a metal mixing bowl, she puts it and the fork in the freezer for fifteen minutes while she soaks her hands in ice water. And then she remembers standing at her grandfather's hip, staring up and wondering why he wants his hands to be cold. She doesn't remember what he said, or if she'd asked it out loud.

She grabs a dishtowel and dabs at her eyes before letting her hands soak a little more, losing herself in the meditative silence. There's an awful lot of sitting and waiting in the recipes she remembers, the same as the silence in the house. Not oppressive or lonely. She could tell when her grandfather was out. She hasn't thought so much about her childhood in a while. It's painful, even the happy memories, because inevitably she will start thinking of his death.

She tries to focus on the pie, and remembers it's called pióg and tears seep out again despite her attempts to calm down. Something drifts into mind as she stares into the blurry ice water. Jessika had asked her, "A chef? So you're taking the class with Maz Kanata?" and laughed. "Good luck. I've heard she makes everyone cry."

And at the time she'd thought it was nothing more than a strict teacher, someone like Phasma. She'd laughed too and thought no more of it.


End file.
